I do not think it imagination. I think it the work of whatever yet rules this tower. It could not kill those who slept through the hand of Zenobius, so it found others, weaker. Skies above help us, whatever it told you, whatever it offered you, however it twisted and turned to make you believe this slaughter was acceptable. And you, who fell for it.

I need you to say nothing further. I accept your course of action. It is right, and the least you can do now.